


Quality Products

by EntreNous



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Grocery Shopping, Humor, M/M, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-16
Updated: 2004-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-26 18:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander and Spike do a little food shopping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quality Products

Xander leaned glumly on the cart handle as Spike dumped three packages of _PG Tips_ into the basket. “You don’t even drink tea,” he said after Spike paused, weighing a fourth package in his hand.

“Do so,” Spike answered. He turned, and his eye roved up and down the shelves until it fixed upon a display of biscuits. “Hey! _McVities_ plain chocolate digestives! Do you know how hard it is to find that brand in the States? And if you do, it’s always the milk chocolate ones, which, if we’re being honest, are hardly worth talking about.”

“I don’t get that,” Xander said as Spike handed him an armful of the plastic-wrapped biscuits. “It’s just like graham crackers with chocolate on them, right? We can get those in the _Keebler_ version. I mean, why can’t you just eat the regular cookies that I eat?”

Spike gave him a look of utter disgust, clearly considering it beneath him to come out and say that such an idea was obviously stupid.

Xander glanced at his watch and looked back towards Spike only to see him disappearing around the corner into the next aisle. He sighed and trudged after him, kicking the wheel that had been sticking the whole time in order to make the turn.

“ _Pot Noodle_!” Spike crowed, his arms filled with containers. “It’s the slag of all snacks!”

“Look,” Xander said firmly. “There’s just no way that you even know about those. You’ve been in the United States for, what, at least the past fifty years?”

“Your point being?” Spike asked as he piled a few more containers atop the growing stack in the basket.

“So there’s way you’ve even had half of these different kinds of soups and teas and biscuits--“

“And jams,” Spike put in as he weighted two types in his hands, frowning at the labels.

“And jams,” Xander echoed. “And . . . hey! What jams? No jams were mentioned in the making of this shopping list.”

“What would you have me put on my toast, then?” Spike demanded. After another moment’s consideration, he snatched two other varieties off the shelf and clutched them in his arms defensively.

“How about _Smuckers_?” Xander suggested. He grabbed and held up a gigantic economy sized plastic jar of strawberry jam, shaking it at Spike.

“That god awful tub of sugar and preservatives? Not bloody likely.”

Xander’s voice shook as it rose to a fevered pitch. “Oh, you’re talking opposed to the smaller sized, way more expensive tub of sugar and preservatives that you’re holding in your hands?”

“I see where this is headed,” Spike sniffed. “You’d actually have me use a lesser brand just so that you can save money? I think not! I do have some standards, you know.”

“Okay, fine,” Xander said, clenching his fists around the cart handle. “Get the goddamn jam.”

Spike put the jars very carefully into the cart, watching Xander the entire time as though he might be hatching some malicious plot against quality jam in general. Then he turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving Xander to follow him in silence. 

“You know what I don’t get?” Xander asked as Spike paused in front of a display of boxed powdered custards. 

“The concept of purchasing quality products?” Spike asked with false innocence. 

“No. What makes no sense is that there are so many British products in a small grocery store in Southern California.”

Spike paused mid-throw as he was about to launch two boxes of _Weetabix_ in the general direction of the cart. “Well . . . erm . . .”

“Doesn’t it strike you as incredibly _wrong_?” Xander asked. As he made a sweeping gesture and took a step to give atmospheric heft to his question, his foot knocked against the back wheel and the cart creaked loudly in protest.

“Well, maybe this sorry place understands the proper foods to stock,” Spike said. Despite the assurance in his voice, he looked doubtfully around the store as if seeing it for the first time.

“I mean, it can’t be just because of you and Giles, even though you’re the only British guys that I know,” Xander said. “The two of you can’t eat and drink enough of this stuff to justify ordering this much and having it on hand in your regular Joe supermarket.”

Spike rubbed at his chin. “Suppose there must be an expat community in town, or some such nonsense.” 

“But why Sunnydale?”

Spike tilted his head to the side and thought. “Good real estate market?”

“Oh my god,” Xander exclaimed with the air of someone who had stumbled upon something very important indeed. “The Hellmouth draws them! Just like it draws the demons.” He banged his fist against the cart for emphasis. 

“You absolute xenophobe,” Spike said in shock. “You’re insulting the two biggest groups that’ll have me, and you think I’m just going to stand for it? I demand an apology.”

Xander ran the tips of his fingers along the metal sides of the cart and focused on Spike with widened eyes. “Xeno . . . what?”

Spike only snarled and turned as though he was about to walk off alone.

“Hey wait,” Xander said desperately. “Doesn’t it count for anything that I’m the one footing this shopping expedition and keeping you in tea and biscuits from the mother country?”

Almost instantly Spike turned, separated Xander from the cart, and pinned him against the shelves that lined the aisle. “Think you can buy yourself out of this, do you?”

“Um. Yes?” Xander croaked out. 

Spike leaned in to press his lips against Xander’s for a demanding kiss. Then with a smile he turned Xander with a push, propelling him and the cart full of tea and biscuits and jams and things towards the registers. “Damn right you can.”


End file.
